


Belonging

by MayGlenn



Category: The Young Riders (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Consensual Underage Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22645009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: “Where the hell you been?” someone—Jimmy, maybe—asked, but Buck didn’t care, wasn’t answering. He helped Ike down from the saddle, only for Ike to collapse in his arms, and for Buck to realize at the same moment that he wasn’t strong enough to hold Ike up. They went down in a heap.
Relationships: Running Buck Cross/Ike McSwain
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Contains tags to Season 1 Episode 3: Home of the Brave and Season 1 Episode 4: Speak No Evil.

They didn’t stop riding until they made it back. The paint smeared down Buck’s face and chest, but he tumbled off his horse to rush to Ike. “Water! We need some water!” 

“Where the hell you been?” someone—Jimmy, maybe—asked, but Buck didn’t care, wasn’t answering. He helped Ike down from the saddle, only for Ike to collapse in his arms, and for Buck to realize at the same moment that he wasn’t strong enough to hold him up. They went down in a heap. 

“They both been through hell,” Kid reported. “Just get em inside.” 

Ike was signing furiously, and Buck was whispering something to him just as urgently. Neither wanted to let go of the other, and they had to haul them inside together. 

“They weren’t hurting me, Ike, it was a test, a test—yes, I know they hurt you, that isn’t fair—Ike, I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t know—” 

“You boys look like hell!” Emma scolded, like this was their own fault. “What happened?” 

Ike started crying at that point, signing something more, and then Buck started crying, too, telling Ike “No, no. Never,” and closed his arms around him like the rest of them weren’t there. 

“Just—they need food and water,” Kid said quietly. “Let ‘em alone. I’ll fill you in.” 

… 

That was how they ended up in bed together the first time, in Buck’s bunk because neither of them could make it up to Ike’s bunk and they ignored Kid’s offer to let one of them have his for the night. Emma made them drink nearly a bucket of water each and Teaspoon made them eat cornbread mashed with milk. They didn’t stop signing at each other all night, Buck giving up on speaking aloud. It was too fast for Lou or the Kid to follow. 

Before bed they let Emma approach with a bucket of warm, soapy water, and she washed Ike’s face and hands up, and cleaned the welts on his wrists. She washed Buck’s face of the red and white paint and cleaned up the cut on his chest, too. She pretended to believe he was crying from pain when she washed his blistered feet, but she knew it was more about the ritual paint he never really wanted but would never put on again. 

“You boys take care of each other now, you hear?” she whispered, and kissed them each on the brow, and announced it was time for everyone to go to sleep. 

Buck and Ike fell asleep lying face to face, their fingers twitching in conversation between them. 

...

The next morning the rest of the world seemed to exist once again for them, and Buck related, haltingly, like he was re-learning English, or verbal speech entirely, the story of what had happened to him more fully than what the Kid had provided the night before. He was tired, and looked like he’d seen a ghost, or had  _ been  _ a ghost, and wouldn’t rise to any bait, no matter what Jimmy said. 

He and Ike even managed some of their chores that day, doing everything together, neither letting the other out of his sight. Their touches lingered. 

“Trauma,” the Kid guessed in hushed tones out of earshot. “They need each other to pull themselves out of this.”

“Okay, but do you really gotta sleep together?” Jimmy demanded when Ike crawled back into Buck’s bed that night. 

Buck and Ike just ignored him. Buck rolled over with his back to the room, signing something to the mute boy that made him smile.

“Acting like a couple of faggots—”

To everyone’s surprise, it was Cody who punched him. 

Jimmy went down  _ hard _ , dazed, and Cody stood over him, in between Jimmy the bed, like he was protecting them. Buck actually sat up, staring in amazement: this wasn’t like the fight in the store. Cody was actually defending them.  _ Cody _ . 

“I’m sick of your shit, Hickok,” Cody said quietly. “You let them alone. You say that word again I ain’t gonna stop at one.” 

No one spoke. Neither Teaspoon nor Emma felt the need to scold anyone more than they got scolded already. The Kid squeezed Jimmy’s arm in warning as he helped him up, and they all went to bed. 

_ Are we _ ? Ike signed in the darkness, and then faltered. He didn’t know a signed word for this. Certainly not a nice one. His wrist glinted silver in the moonlight, where he still wore Buck’s bracelet.  _ What Jimmy said? _

They lay nearly nose to nose, sharing one pillow, sharing one blanket. 

_ I don’t know _ , Buck signed back. Then he sighed.  _ No, I do. You were in my vision. In the medicine hut. _

_ It really was a ritual? Kid said they were just killing you slowly.  _

Buck shook his head, touching the side of Ike’s face. His fingers lingered, exploring the back of his skull, feeling the patches where hair sometimes grew before Ike shaved it off. Reluctantly he drew his hands back to sign.  _ It kinda felt like they were killing me. But I had to prove myself.  _

Ike nodded slowly, his face searching Buck’s, and when Buck didn’t continue, he signed,  _ What did I do in your vision? _

Buck felt himself grow hot.  _ You were just there. Waiting for me at the end. My— _ here his hands faltered, embarrassed,  _ my prize? My goal? My guide. _

This last one was firmer, as he realized the function the image of Ike had performed in his vision, and in the actual trial. The eagle calling to him was a sign he knew, but it had only forced him to look up and see where Ike hid in the rocks above. It was that sight that gave him courage and strength, and he had jumped, trusting that. 

And he had proven himself to his brother and his people, and then he had left them. ‘I may have to kill you, brother,’ Red Bear had told him. For binding himself to a white man forever. And Running Buck knew that. He didn’t belong in either world. 

But he did belong with Ike. 

Ike was smiling, tightly. He picked up Buck’s hand and pressed it against his cheek again, like he wanted it to stay there. Buck could feel Ike’s tears with his thumb. 

_ I’m sorry _ , he signed, and there were no signs nor words for what he was apologizing for: sorry that Buck had to leave his family, for the war between the white men and the Kiowa, for his own presence, too, for his job that helped the spread of white civilization, for his body that stood marked by the diseases that white men brought to the land. 

_ It’s bigger than both of us _ .

_ But it’s because of me that you chose the path you did _ .

They were arguing again. 

_ I don’t belong there. Or here. _

_ You belong with me. _ Somehow Ike knew, and that startled Buck, gave his hands pause. That was the reason Ike was crying.  _ I’m sorry. You deserve more— _

Buck took his hands to stop him, squeezed his wrists, and Ike looked at him sadly, helpless, wishing, aching. Buck couldn’t stand seeing him look like that. Not Ike the dreamwalker, Ike the deathwalker. 

He kissed him. Softly, quickly, once. 

Ike made a sound like the air had been punched out of him, and then sucked back in. And then Ike was kissing him, their hands pressed between them so neither of them could talk. Buck’s arm moved beneath Ike’s head. Their legs straightened so they could press closer, and then tangled together, so they could press closer still. Ike’s arm went around Buck’s waist. 

Buck letting out the first low moan, involuntarily, was what stopped them, and they froze in the night, fearing someone would hear them. When it appeared that no one had, Ike actually giggled—he could laugh as loud as he wanted—but Buck had to bury his face against Ike’s warm neck to keep quiet. They shook the whole bed trying not to laugh. For the first time in a long time, something felt entirely right. 

Buck fell asleep trying to read in Ike’s eyes what must have always been there but he was only just now seeing. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the smut!

At the next opportunity, Ike and Buck volunteered to take the long ride to Ft. Laramie and back, practically trammeling Cody and the Kid to take it off their hands. 

“Aw, let the lovebirds have it,” Jimmy said, somewhere between teasing and challenging. 

Now the Kid looked nervous, blushing. 

“It’d be nice not to have you gone so long,” Lou suggested. 

Buck rolled his eyes at the idiocy in the world that forced Cody to be the sensible one. 

“Yeah, man, you take it,” Cody said gladly. “I ain’t passing up a chance to sleep in my own bed. You gotta pick me up some things in town, though.” 

Buck smiled, relieved. “Great.” 

…

Armed with their messages, overnight bags, and Cody’s list (and Jimmy’s, and Lou’s) (and their money), Ike and Buck finally set off at a gallop. It was freeing to get out alone, just the two of them, and the first time they stopped just to look around them and rest their horses, Buck pulled Ike into a kiss, out here under the sky, in the open. 

He tasted wonderful out here. 

They chased each other and laughed like children, and stopped early enough to make camp and cook while it was still light so they could spend the darkness in each other’s arms. 

At first it was just kissing, just exploring, laughing and grinning. Freedom. At first they fell asleep like that, and woke again when the fire was all hot embers. 

"My arm's asleep," Buck laughed, when he was reduced to signing one-handed. And then Ike was there, rubbing his arm, and then taking that massaging pattern lower, palming first over his chest and then lower, over the front of his trousers. 

Buck's breath caught, trembling, and not really knowing what to do, or what he wanted to do, he kissed Ike again. 

Ike’s brow knit over a grin.  _ This okay? _ He signed. 

“Yeah! Yes,” Buck said hastily, signing along with his words because he couldn’t get either of them out fast enough. “I want—I just—have you ever done this before?”

Ike nodded so quickly and with so little shame that Buck felt his face go hot. 

_ I won’t hurt you _ , Ike signed, and then was kissing Buck onto his back before what he said caught up with him. 

“Ah, wait, what? You mean  _ you— _ ” Buck stopped himself before he actually said it, but there was no way to end that sentence with as much surprise as he’d begun it and not offend. He was embarrassed to realize he had assumed he—with his very little experience kissing and petting no more than two girls—would be the one with the sexual experience in the relationship. Which wasn’t fair, was insulting, but—but Ike couldn’t  _ talk  _ before Buck taught him the sign language he knew! How did someone who couldn’t talk get girls into bed with him? 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Buck tried, as Ike’s face darkened, hurt. “Ike, I’m sorry, I only meant I—if you couldn’t talk…” 

_ And no hair _ , Ike accused via sign.  _ You think just because you’re gorgeous you would have… _ He struggled with the sign, and blushed fiercely. 

Buck liked the look on him, and locked eyes with him, sitting up.  _ Fucked _ , he signed, and said, “Fucked. Yeah, I thought...but that’s stupid. Or...maybe being half-Kiowa really scares people more.”

Now Ike looked a little embarrassed by his outburst, too. He hadn’t expected his pale skin to count for so much, the way society saw them. Sure, he was bald and his voice was broken, but at least, people thought when they looked at him, he was still white. 

“I’m sorry,” Buck said as Ike signed back,  _ I’m sorry. _

“You really think I’m gorgeous?” Buck asked into the next awkward silence, and smiled when Ike nodded hugely, urgently. Then, in a voice so small he could only sign it, shyly, Buck added,  _ Show me _ ? 

Ike’s grin bloomed across his face, lighting up his eyes. He wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to show Buck a thing or two, and pressed him back into the blanket, kissing him while he worked the buttons of his shirt and trousers open. 

Buck was already breathing heavily as Ike slid a hand into his trousers, curling around him, moving slowly but somehow just how Buck wanted it, how he needed it. He gasped and then whined, tugging at Ike’s shoulders, and then cried out as he bucked his hips up against Ike. “Ike! Ike, I’m gonna—how do I—tell me what to—” 

But a twist of Ike’s wrist had him crying out again, and throwing his head back. Being touched like this had to be impossible. Even Buck didn’t know how to touch  _ himself  _ like this. “I—I—Ike, please,” he begged, and only then did he notice that Ike’s breath was hitching, too, and he shucked his own trousers down to hold their cocks together in one hand, fucking into the tight grip until Buck came screaming and Ike followed silently. 

They lay together breathing, just breathing hard, like they had run a long way. The horses, who had been making some concerned noises in their direction, settled. 

Ike wiped his hands—on Buck’s trousers, but that was tomorrow’s problem—and signed,  _ You sound like a coyote in heat _ .

Buck shoved him, laughing, even though he supposed he deserved that. Ike laughed his silent laugh, his whole face lighting up, and Buck tugged him into a kiss until they were breathless again. “I want you to show me a lot more.” 

Ike grinned and put another log of wood on the fire. 

…

What Ike couldn’t impart to Buck, unfortunately, was how to be discreet, or even how to keep his volume at a reasonable level. It seemed impossible for Buck to restrain himself when Ike was touching him. He just fell apart when Ike touched him or sucked him or fucked him, becoming an instrument Ike could play however he wanted to. They couldn’t even manage a quickie in the barn without the whole gang showing up asking what animal was dying. 

What this meant was that if they got that look in their eyes and dragged each other off to the barn or a bunk late at night, Ike was the one who got off. Buck could sometimes keep the volume down if he was giving Ike head, which was something he quickly learned to like as a result. 

_ When your mouth is full you’re not so loud, _ Ike signed, his only sound a sharp breath and his head thunking against the post behind him as Buck went down on him. The horses moved restlessly around them, and Buck moaned, stroking himself with one hand while he held Ike in the other.  _ Maybe we could gag you. _

Buck only glared at that, but he also moaned loudly, both proving Ike’s point and disproving his suggestion. 

_Guess you’ll have to wait for our next long run_, then, Ike signed, and gasped, and grabbed Buck’s hair, and came, shoving himself down Buck’s throat to stifle his shout, and he held himself there until Buck came, too, all over the straw floor and still loud enough that the nearby horses whinnied, scandalized. 

Buck gasped for air like he’d never tasted it before, when his mouth was finally free, his face split-slicked and flushed hot with shame because of how much he  _ liked  _ that. Oh, he liked the gentle, tender sides of lovemaking, too, if he could keep his mouth shut. As it was, this was what he could get here and now, so he learned to like it. 

Sometimes, though, Ike would make him wait, even for that. Wouldn’t touch him for days and weeks, signing only  _ You’re too loud, You’ll wake everyone up, Everyone will know _ .

And then they would be out on the trail together and Ike would more than make up for it, would make him  _ scream _ , would make him come three or four times in a night, and twice the next morning, would make sure he could still feel it when he rode for days afterward, would wring him out and leave him unconscious more than sleeping. Maybe Ike was just trying to erase the sounds Buck had made going through his trials, or replace them with new ones in his mind. Or maybe, at times like these, Buck became Ike’s voice in another way, as though Ike could scream all the filthy things he wanted to by making Buck scream them. 

Buck was always, always too tired to ask afterward. 

… 

Buck was startled awake by someone crawling into his bunk, but the half-instant of panic was quickly replaced by a soft smile when he realized who it was. 

“Ike,” he whispered, turning over, but Ike didn’t let him move, spooned up behind him, making a soft breathy noise, and hugged him like they couldn’t hug before, in the courthouse. 

Buck’s heart constricted, and he reached behind him, squeezed back.  _ I’m sorry _ , he signed, but he wasn’t sure Ike was looking up to see it. 

The bunkhouse was dark, everyone asleep. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t done this before, but things usually had to get a little more desperate. After Buck and Ike came back from that business with the Kiowa and Buck’s half-brother, they had shared a bunk for three days before they could sleep apart. Jimmy and Cody had teased them, at first, but Buck and Ike were more or less immune: you think a half-Indian and a mute boy hadn’t heard it all already? 

By now the rest of them just kind of grudgingly accepted it, Buck thought. Maybe in a  _ They must be very good friends _ way, but when Jimmy said something like, “Can’t you two take that outside?” Buck could reply, “If we took it outside you’d know exactly what we were doing,” and Cody guffawed encouragingly and Jimmy never brought it up again. 

Ike, suddenly satisfied by the hug, sat up on an elbow to sign at him:  _ You hurt? _

Even though sometimes communicating with Ike could be a challenge, Buck liked that they could speak like this together, utterly silently, all night, as long as the moon was out. Buck shook his head, then added, more honestly,  _ They roughed me up a little. Still had it easier than you. _

Ike frowned, glancing down Buck’s body, an unspoken question. 

Buck gave him a wry little smile like he knew what Ike was  _ really  _ after. Ike glared at him, though, so Buck just smiled and nodded, rolling a little more onto his back and laying his arms out to either side, inviting. 

Ike explored him with soft touches, tracing his quick fingers over his neck and shoulders, unbuttoning Buck’s long johns to the navel. The touch relaxed him, at least until until Ike found a bruise hot in his gut. Buck winced, and Ike bent down to kiss the spot. Buck touched the top of his head, that beautiful bald head, and if Buck didn’t think part of him was trying too hard to be a stereotype he might have let himself think that Ike was some kind of sacred being, one who had walked the path of death and walked back out. Buck ran his fingertips over Ike’s scalp, the way he did when Ike was going down on him—and he almost wished they could do that now, but Buck was  _ loud— _ like, seriously, everyone knew what they were up to if he let loose—and he tapped his crown once to get Ike’s attention. 

_ I’m proud of you _ , he signed, and mouthed the words along. 

Ike shook his head and looked down. 

They remember Jimmy’s words that day: ‘Why didn’t you kill Nickerson when you had the chance?’ _ _

_ Anyone can kill in anger or fear _ , Buck signed, mouth tight.  _ You did right, and he took advantage. That’s his wrong _ . 

_ You almost died, _ Ike protested, and Buck realized he was crying, his utterly silent tears. 

“Oh, Ike,” Buck whispered, reaching up to wipe Ike’s tears away with a thumb. Buck would never be afraid to die knowing he and his friends were doing the right thing, but he supposed if it had been his choice and Ike’s life on the line...well… 

Instead of answering, Buck grabbed the back of Ike’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. Nothing sharp or demanding, not a prelude to anything, just a kiss to tell him  _ I’m here _ . 

At least Ike was smiling when they broke apart, looking shy and sweet and everything that Buck loved about him. If he weren’t so sore and tired, he might flip Ike beneath him, finger him open and swallow his cock—Ike could, of course, only ever be completely silent in bed—and help him to sleep that way. As it was, Buck was half-asleep already. 

_ Can I stay? _ Ike asked. 

Buck just nodded, utterly comfortable, and let Ike arrange him how he liked, which was spooning behind Buck with his own back to the wall. Buck reached behind him with one arm again, and with the other linked his fingers with Ike’s. In one breath he was asleep.

And in the morning, no one said a word about them stumbling out of the same bunk. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom is too small to let even self-indulgent nonsense die in my drafts. Writing my dissertation entitles me to writing and posting whatever I want.


End file.
